Site Mobile Navigation

With This View, Who Needs Legroom?

The aisle may afford some room to wiggle, but the window seat gives you the world.Credit
Mark R. Jones

WINDOW seat or aisle? Ever since I was a small child, there’s been only one answer. Sure, the aisle is a bit roomier, and it’s easier to get up to stretch your legs. But for me, it’s all about the views, especially those entrancing last few minutes before touchdown.

It’s how the details of the world are summoned again, how gracefully scale and shadings resolve into trees and fields and subdivisions. It’s the steady, lyrical motion of a silvery wing over a new place — an entirely unique geography and history that appear simply and perfectly beneath you.

As a teenager, I was so enamored with landings that I would choose soundtracks for them, cuing up my Walkman for that perfect song (rules on electronic devices were different back then, I swear). Years later, I surprised no one when I left a career in management consulting to become an airline pilot. In 2003, I started flying Airbus A320 aircraft on routes within Europe. In 2007 I upgraded to Boeing 747s (or downgraded, depending on your perspective — the Boeing versus Airbus debate is as impassioned as Mac versus PC), flying all over the world for a major commercial carrier, with about 5,000 hours under my belt.

Friends and family were anything but shocked by my career change. But they’re often amused to discover that when I fly as a passenger, I still ask as energetically as ever for a window seat. I explain that while the pointy end does offer expansive views to the pilots at work there, idle contemplation is a pleasure reserved for the fortunate travelers back in 5A or 24F.

While all frequent fliers will have their favorites, some cities are perennial winners. Passengers flying to San Francisco, for example, are regularly treated to marvelous views of its bridges, hills and microclimates. If sister cities were chosen from above, San Francisco would be paired with Lisbon. Note the 25th of April Bridge: you won’t be the first to see its striking resemblance to the Golden Gate.

But of all the world’s cities, I nominate London as offering the finest in-flight entertainment for window seat passengers. Prevailing winds and Heathrow’s location west of central London mean that arriving passengers are usually granted soaring views of the “mighty imperial city,” a Churchillian turn that makes perfect sense from 5,000 feet. Day or night, follow the trace of the Thames and you’ll spot every iconic landmark: Tower Bridge, St Paul’s, the Tate Modern, the Eye, Big Ben. The river’s mostly east-west course is a good way for visitors and residents alike to orient themselves (hence the outcry when it was briefly deleted from the Tube map).

Photo

Sunrise over Europe.Credit
Mark R. Jones

London’s smaller graces are equally apparent from on high. Note the dozens of tiny parks that few tourists will ever encounter and the proximity of the sea that carried so many of the city’s fortunes. And if you’ve ever doubted the power of zoning, look at how the fiercely protected countryside butts up against Western Europe’s largest city.

Occasionally, easterly winds mean that passengers will see next to nothing of London itself. Fans of “The Office” (the original BBC version) should console themselves with the view of Slough, while admirers of another British institution can look out for Windsor Castle.

Another favorite arrival is Milan. For most travelers, I imagine the words “Milan” and “runway” conjure up a very specific image of beauty. For me, they bring to mind the drop-dead gorgeous mountains.

Milan is so close to the Alps that many flights from the north and west start their descents while directly above the mountains. You’ll see the texture of the glaciers, sky blue lakes and peaks so iconic that you’ll find yourself reaching for some milk chocolate.

It’s a common perception that Switzerland’s vaunted independence was ordained by its geography. Catch sight of Geneva off to the left and it will be obvious that the Alps never offered Switzerland much protection from northern neighbors. But the extraordinarily serrated Alpine wall to the south of Switzerland’s major cities is a geographic barrier like no other in Europe. Imagine Hannibal and his elephants trudging through the snow as you down another chocolate truffle.

These days, even Carthaginian generals might be too stressed out by air travel to enjoy the view. But world-weary empire builders should take heart in the curious fact that many of the world’s worst airports also happen to offer particularly amazing approaches.

There’s no more unfortunate example than La Guardia. Despite its abysmal reputation, flights into La Guardia regularly offer breathtaking views of New York City. The first time I went to Rockefeller Center’s observation deck, I heard someone remark how much better the view was from there, compared with the Empire State Building, because you can’t see King Kong’s last perch when you’re standing on it. The views from a flight landing at La Guardia take that logic to a whole new altitude. If you come in over the Upper Bay of New York Harbor, your arrival will start, aptly enough, with a view of the Statue of Liberty. Next is the small matter of a famous island, which, at least at night, manages to look like what it so often claims to be: the capital of the world.

Note the topography of Manhattan’s skyscrapers, how Lower Manhattan and Midtown are entirely distinct skylines. Find Times Square by the stadium-like metallic light that pours upward into the night sky and spills like water into nearby neighborhoods. From there follow Broadway as it angles across the grid. And make sure to look directly down as the glowing streets flip past like pages in a book.

Photo

A view of Los Angeles.Credit
Mark R. Jones

Los Angeles is an equally powerful example. While Los Angeles International rarely appears on the average traveler’s list of happy places, an early-evening approach is one of my favorite airborne scenes. Watch American history and geography unroll below you: the snowy agricultural grids of the Midwest, the jagged Rockies, then the vast and seemingly uninhabited deserts that resemble nothing so much as images sent back by a Mars orbiter.

Just when it seems that this is how the continent will finish, the few roads etched on the desert floors begin to multiply. Follow these hairline highways as they turn, widen and race around one last ring of mountains as your jet starts descending toward the faint glow in the air ahead. The snowcapped peaks fall away to the vertiginous grid of illumination that is Los Angeles, an American original that contradicts pretty much everyone else’s notion of a city.

Flying into LAX I’m regularly struck by how the city’s geographic and cultural positions in the United States are as aligned as those of Plymouth Rock. But the scenery is as powerful as the simile, especially at night. The freeways — admit it — are magnificent. The city looks like an ad for a computer chip, a kinetic vision of light and energy spilling over the continent’s edge. It’s perhaps not surprising that the skies above Los Angeles would offer such a cinematic experience. But wherever you’re flying, ask for the best seats in the house.